


Marble

by mamipapi



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mentor/Apprentice Relationship, Platonic Relationship, basically an assassin apprentice, jacob basically has SO much time on his hands to do what's going to happen in this story, jacob frye is a TOTAL kid person don't @ me, just a cute lil story between jacob frye and kid/teen reader, reader eventually becomes an apprentice of jacob frye, reader is a kid in the beginning but begins to age through the chapters, which is perfect tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18853894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamipapi/pseuds/mamipapi
Summary: Two years after Evie leaves to India with Henry Green, Jacob finds a child who manages to tickle his soft side.





	1. first meeting

**Author's Note:**

> yoo hoo let's go lol

        London was a strange place in the 1800s. The streets were cruel to children, but even worse in the slums where most beggars and homeless children wandered about; don't forget to mention thieves, ruffians, killings, and brothels. But, this is where home was.

        This is where (Name) lived.

        (Name) was a small girl at about ten years old, with messy, frizzy hair due to not being able to brush it when she could and several weeks worth of dirt that was caked beneath her fingernails. She kept to herself most of the time so as to not stir up attention, but most children in the district knew who (Name) was. Yes - the homeless little orphan girl that had a penchant for stealing right beneath adults' noses and had a very sour attitude.

        One of the people that (Name) tried to avoid the most, however, was that little rat who worked her parent's tavern: Clara O'Dea.

        Clara O'Dea was no stranger to (Name), and the same went the other way around. That girl and her little gang of children that constantly picked on (Name)'s nerves rattled the child's bones to her core, and it infuriated (Name). Clara tried to recruit (Name) into her circle more than once on several occasions, but the girl did nothing but refuse the O'Dea's advances. (Name) didn't want to be around that girl or her friends. She didn't need their help.

        Perhaps it was a bit of pride that kept (Name) from being acquaintances with the skeleton that was Clara's friends, but how was (Name) supposed to know that? The child was only a decade old, no more and no less. (Name) didn't even know what day her birthday was on, for Christ's sake.

        The girl, clad in her ripped pants and over-sized long sleeve that was half-tucked into the hem of her pants, stalked down the streets of downtown London. Her dirty bare feet slapped down on the cobblestone sidewalk and (Name)'s back was slouched as she walked so as to not draw attention to herself. Rain pattered down from the near-black evening sky, and it was with great frustration that (Name) swiped her hat from the top of her head to wring the water out of it.

        "Boy, move out of the way!" A man dressed in a black suit growled, an umbrella hanging high over his head.

        "Right, sorry sir," (Name) mumbled, adjusting the hat back on her head. The girl may have been young, but (Name) did know one thing: if she were to survive at least a little better, it was better to be done as a boy than as a girl. And so, it was with great reluctance that the girl forced her hand a few years ago and chopped off all of her hair into a pixie so that she could properly pass as the opposite gender. So far it had worked, but ever since then none of the kids could figure out who (Name) was - and thank God for that, at least.

        Rubbing her nose and sniffling, (Name) sighed. She'd had a runny nose for several days now, but there was nothing to do about it except wait it out. (Name) hated waiting.

        Turning into an alleyway, (Name) grumbled to herself. Hands stuffed in her pockets and eyes glued to her bare feet, (Name) almost didn't notice the dog that began barking wildly at her from it's place behind a fence in the corner. It was an odd place to keep a dog, but (Name) supposed she could think of worse places. Entranced by the little beast, (Name) headed towards the dog with her hand held out.

        "Shhh, it's okay, puppy," (Name) cooed, and this seemed to soothe the dog's nerves a little bit. Stalking through the tall grass that lead the girl to the gate of the fence, (Name) continued to hold her hand out. Cautiously, she held it over the fence so that the dog could sniff her fingers.

        "Aw, you're just a good little boy, aren't you?" (Name) smiled, petting the canine behind it's fluffy ear. "Who's a good--AGH!" (Name)'s little purr was abruptly cut off when the dog unexpectedly sunk its chops into the girl's hand, growling as loud as a train engine in her ear. "Let go of me!" (Name) shouted as the dog yanked the girl into its pen, yanking her hand all about as it readjusted it's toothy grip on (Name)'s bleeding hand.

        "Let go!" (Name) repeated, eyes stinging with tears of pain. Punching and slapping the beast only seemed to make it angrier, but (Name) felt like she had to do just about anything to escape this dog pen. Before (Name) was able to stab her fingers into the canine's eye in an attempt to momentarily get it off of her, blood spurted onto the child's chest and neck from an open wound in the dog's throat.

        A short scream of terror erupted from (Name) at seeing blood drip from the dog's mouth, and the canine was rolled off of her to be replaced by an adult man with a top hat and stubble on his jaw. His eyes were filled with concern and worry for the girl's well-being, something that made the child go immobile beneath the man.

        "Hey! Are you alright?" He asked her, grabbing (Name)'s bloody hand with a gentle grip and examining the wound.

        After a few moments of no response, the mysterious stranger looked from (Name)'s scarlet hand to the child's tear-stricken face. Big hot tears dripped from the girl's eyes and big sobs escaped her at the pain shooting up her arm.

        "Hey, hey, hey! Shh-shh-shh-shh," the man coos, helping (Name) up from the ground and setting her outside of the dog pen. Before the man is even able to say or do anything to make it better, he's met with a fleeing child who manages to escape his sights before he's able to catch her.

        "Damn it!" Jacob curses, clutching his hands. "I need to find that boy."


	2. clues

        It was at least two days after that incident with the unfriendly dog you happened upon, and things weren't looking out to be good for your hand. You tried rinsing it off as best you could at the Thames River, but it had taken you a bit of time to reach the location and even more time to find something to wrap around the wound. So, long story short... your hand was infected.

        It was throbbing and felt like burning coals sitting on your flesh. Any small movement or twitch of your fingers made a burst of pain shoot up your arm, which inhibited you from doing any of the usual work you did during the daytime. You wanted to seek out help, but how could you? Money was sparse and you barely had any pounds in your pockets to begin with.

        A forlorn sigh escaped your pouting lips as you adjusted the strap to your overalls with your right hand, the one that hadn't been mauled by that stupid dog. A fool you were to assume that dog was anything but a beast... A groan of frustration escaped your throat, and your teeth gritted at the thought of what was next. What was next? You'd never had a wound this bad before, and never had one to get infected - so your knowledge on how to take care of the injury was close to zero percent.

        As you sat on an empty crate in a dark, damp, and empty alleyway, peeling back the tattered cloth you'd wrapped around your hand to inspect the wound, your features twisted into that of a cringe. The skin around the wound was beginning to turn yellow and blood crusted within the opening. Making a small squeal of disgust, you quickly wrapped the fabric back around your palm and frowned.

 

 

        Waltzing into the pub with a neutral little smirk on his face, Jacob ambled his way through the throngs of drunken patrons and towards the bar. Before he'd even placed his hands on the counter top, Miss Clara O'Dea happily greeted the Assassin with a kind smile on her young, freckled face. "Hello, Mr. Frye!"

        "'Ta!" Jacob grinned, tipping his hat.

        "Let's cut to the chase: what do you want?"

        "Wow, so kind!" Jacob sarcastically joked, chuckling a bit at Clara. She'd always been this way ever since he first met the child, so it was to be expected. Jacob knew that there was no harm done and simply slid into the nearest empty bar stool. Crossing his hands over the counter top and leaning forward, Jacob contemplated what he was to say to the bar owner.

        After some careful thinking, Jacob let his eyes rest on an expectant Clara, who had her arms crossed over her chest as she patiently waited. "There is a boy that I saw a few days ago and I'm wondering if he's one of yours."

        "Depends," Clara clucked her tongue, eyeing Jacob up and down from what she could see behind the counter. "What'd he look like? Did he give you a name?" At the look on Jacob's face, Clara softly sighed. "I guess not."

        "He had (color) hair and (color) eyes, I believe. Scruffy looking overalls, bare feet..."

        "You've just described to me about a quarter and a half of my male urchins, Mr. Frye!"

        "I'm trying my best here!" Jacob whined, rubbing at his eyes with his hand. Clara giggled at Jacob's antics, but nonetheless egged him on and encouraged him to give her some intimate details about the child's appearance. "Well, the boy had (scar/blemish/freckles/other feature)... ah, when I found him he was being attacked by a dog, but I couldn't catch him fast enough before the little devil slipped through my fingers." To emphasize what he said, Jacob flexed his gloved fingers above the counter and stared at them with a contemplative eye.

        To be frank, Jacob was quite worried about the little scrap he'd found. He wanted to try and find the boy, and he cursed at himself for letting him get away so easily. If only the man had been more alert, he'd have been able to keep the child around for a little while longer so he could take him to a hospital and get treated. However, Jacob was a determined man - and he wasn't going to let the boy stay hidden for long.

        Clara O'Dea furrowed her brow at the information Jacob had given her. His description of the boy was utmost peculiar and familiar, but Clara couldn't put her finger on how that was. Before Clara could ask Jacob more questions about the boy, a drunk patron lumbered up to the counter and requested for another round. Sighing, the girl rubbed her head.

        "I shall get my urchins to watch out for a boy with that description, Mr. Frye."


	3. got you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you wake up in an unfamiliar place. jacob has a realization.

How you ended up in this situation, you had no idea.

One moment you were sleeping in a back alley with nothing but the clothes on your back, and when you woke up you found yourself in a completely new place. You were in the hospital - laying in a cold, candle–lit room with bandages over your wound. It was a mystery as to how you arrived here, but you felt too doped up to think too hard on the situation at hand.

"Ah! You're awake. Good morning to you, boy." A chipper, Welsh accent greeted from the side of your bed. "Or, should I say... _miss_?"

Blearily turning your head to the source of the voice, you found yourself looking at a man donning a top hat that was almost vaguely familiar... but you just felt too gone to care enough about it. The man sat cross legged in a wooden chair by the window, hands atop a green lion–head cane with a smile on his stubbly face. His chocolate brown eyes were fixated on your shivering form beneath the thin blanket that was wrapped around your small form. A sort of softhearted look was in his eyes that you could not discern between being sardonic or him just trying to play with your feelings, as you were very used to being kicked around by adults since you were a homeless child.

The stranger leaned in. " _Hello_ ," he greeted once more, this time in a much more softer, tender tone that continued to make your heart beat with anxiety. "You have quite a nasty wound. I'm lucky to have Clara around, otherwise I might never would have found you. Gave me quite a fright, I'd say."

"Where am I?" You mumbled, lolling your head back on the pillow. Your short hair clung to your sweaty forehead like a sopping shirt to skin.

"You don't have to worry about that, darling. You mustn't focus about that now." Jacob paused, his eyes flickering up and down your childlike face as if he was pondering. "Why were you pretending to be a boy?"

"'S none of your business." You bleated, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you closed your eyes. The effort was too strenuous to hold them open for now.

"Let's start with names. Mine's Jacob Frye. What's yours?" Jacob leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, chin dipping to his chest and top hat obscuring his eyes. Upon having his first conversation with you, Jacob took notes of your person. How you avoided looking at him directly in the eyes for too long, how your nose wiggled when you blinked too hard. To the assassin, you certainly were a very standoffish child, one that needed a lot of doting and care. For about two years, Jacob had been wanting to mentor a child into the brotherhood, but he just didn't know when to start. Not only that, but he had yet to find the right spirited child. It wasn't until this exact moment in your room within the Lambeth Asylum did he realize that you might be the right child to tutor. At first he truly did expect you to be a boy - but when Clara's urchins found you and Jacob brought you in to the Asylum and when it was uncovered that you were actually a little lady, Jacob felt flabbergasted. ... Maybe you would be like Evie, perhaps? Or maybe a snarky but witty assassin that brought great triumph to the brotherhood?

No. Jacob wouldn't think like that. He was being like Father. You were just a child, after all, and Jacob would treat you as such. Not as some 'future assassin' or whatever Father-like mindset he was donning.

You murmured something beneath your breath and pulled the blanket up further to your chin, sighing deeply through your nose. "Mn... 's... (First) (Middle)," you revealed, much to Jacob's delight.

"Your last name is (Middle)?"

" _No_ ," you moaned. "I only know of my first and middle name."

The Frye twin let the corner of his lips tug upwards. He leaned forward and ruffled your damp, short, boy-like hair with his large gloved hand. "Well then, (Name)," he charmingly said, "it's nice to meet you."

 

* * *

 

 

" _Ugggh, go away_!" You grouched, sitting upright in your hospital bed with your wounded hand held close to your tummy. The nurse to the left side of your bed gently plucked it away from you and began to dabble it in alcohol, stirring hisses from you.

Jacob, whom had begun to dance into the room with a glass bottle of milk in his hands, twirled towards your bed, top hat and all. It was at least two days since your hospitalization and this would be the third time Jacob had come to visit you that you were awake to see, and he never failed to leave you in a fit of umbrage. It seemed he was utterly determined to see you leave the Asylum in better health than when you arrived, that was for sure.

But he didn't have to visit you constantly!

"Hello, my dear!" Jacob greeted you, sliding into the chair that he normally sat in that was situated to the left side of your bed. He lifted the glass of unopened milk to you, an eyebrow raised. "Want it? I milked a cow for you."

"You did not." You childishly pouted, crinkling your nose.

He chuckled. "Indeed, I did not. I haven't milked a cow since I was a teenager. Now, then," he popped open the bottle and set it beside you, just in case you wanted it later. "Let's talk about you're little..." he fittled his fingers around in the air, "situation."

A deep-throated groan left you at the question. Not again.

"I already told you I don't wanna talk about it!"

Jacob pursed his lips. "Too bad, darling. I gotta know."

This was the third time he had questioned you on your intentions after your hospital stay. You refused to admit to him that you literally had nothing to do after your stay other than scrounge around for scraps on the street and wander around, but this Jacob Frye was one-hundred-percent determined to see the answer.

"What's it to you anyway?" You unintentionally growled when the nurse pressed down on a particularly sensitive spot of your hand wound, but she paid you no mind. "It's not like you're my father, or anything. You're pissin' me off, Mister Frye!"

Jacob gazed at you with a particularly thoughtful gaze, the second knuckle of his index finger pressed up to his lips in thought. His chocolate eyes were focused hard on you, and in that moment your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Snapping your wide-eyed stare away from him, you instead focused your attention on the kind nurse that was dabbing your hand and washing it out with the wet washcloth.

"You have nowhere to go, do you?"

The question startled you. Of course you didn't have anywhere to go. You lived on the streets for most of your life, exposed to the uncaring and cruel nature of the world at a young age. Left to fend for yourself, you faced emotional and even physical abuse by adults whom didn't care to see the likes of you anywhere. However, it was the tenderhearted and sympathetic way that this Jacob Frye posed the question that had your muscles freezing up.

Suddenly, you felt your age.

As soon as he asked that question, you felt like curling in on yourself like a shy, nervous child. You didn't want to answer his question, for fear that he would shun you like all of the other Londoners have in your short life.

To Jacob, he saw a child. Not a rat, or a disgusting piece of rubbish that some Londoners would call these children roaming the streets. He didn't see a nuisance, or a beggar, or a worthless sack of potatoes that could rot for all he cared. He saw a child in need of guidance, warmth, and care. Jacob's features eased, and he closed his eyes.

"Come live with me," he said.

Your gaze snapped back to the man, uncertainty and shock in your wide, doe-like eyes. "What?" You dumbly questioned, your free hand curling towards your chest.

Jacob dipped his chin, the tip of his top hat obscuring his eyes. "I want you to come live with me, darling," he repeated. "I would take good care of you. A child your age shouldn't be wandering the streets as you are."

"You don't mean that, Mister Jacob," you whimpered, voice wobbling. "You don't mean that."

"But I do," Jacob smiled, a certain tenderness to his voice. "As soon as you're released from here this afternoon, you're coming home with me."

Before Jacob could lift his chin to see your red, tear-filled eyes, you whipped your head around to hide from him. Jacob knew you were grateful, you were just too shy to admit it. Children whom did not know love or care acted funny like that sometimes.

Jacob chuckled.

 


	4. flower studies

"This is your room, m'dear," Jacob hopped onto the cart towards the back of the train, guiding you behind him with his hand wrapped around yours. He was pretty eager to escort you to the train station that day, even doing so much as making a man in a green-tinted suit drive you there via carriage. When you found out that he lived on a train, you were completely baffled.

"Are you sure you aren't just as homeless as me?" You had questioned him, but he only laughed at your remark.

Now, you were standing in the middle of a carriage that was decorated very... strangely. A map hung on one part of the wall along with various other trinkets in a box in the corner of the cart. Aside from that, it looked like someone took all of their things and only left the stuff they didn't need before moving out.

"No one else lives on the train with you?" You asked, examining the map of London before looking over your shoulder at Jacob.

The man waved his hand. "No, of course not."

You watched him for a few more seconds before turning back towards the map.

Jacob walked up to stand beside you. "Look, y'don't have to wear boy clothes anymore, darling. I have all the money in the world to spend, so how about I take you up into town tomorrow so we can buy you some new women's wear and other things to decorate your new room with?" He placed a gloved hand over the top of your head as he spoke, not that you minded.

"Um, okay." You shyly nodded, now completely red in the face.

"Alright then! Ta-ta! The kitchen is the cart right behind yours, there. And my room is two carts down in case you need anything." Jacob waves at you before opening the door to your cart and hopping into the next one, leaving you alone to your thoughts. When you're sure he's gone, you walk over to the box in the corner of the room and pick up the first thing that is sitting among the other various what-nots inside.

It's a journal. The papers are worn at the edges and it looks like someone wrote in it quite often. You flip open the book and thumb through the pages, not understanding a single thing that had been written. However, you did recognize a few study sketches among the pages. They were various flowers that you'd seen around London before. You didn't understand why they were drawn in this journal, but you liked how detailed the ink sketches were nonetheless.

You stood up and sat down on your new bed, completely consumed by the journal's drawings within.


	5. three dresses

Jacob stood off to the side, watching with amusement as the local seamstress took your measurements. The two of you were in a boutique in Westminister buying clothes for yourself, just as Jacob promised. No more cross-dressing; from here on out, you dress like how you want to dress. And Jacob confirmed with you that you did indeed want to dress with pretty flats and nice puff sleeves made on women's dresses.

You stood on a stool in the middle of the room while the owner of the shop pulled a ruler around your waist and bust.

"And... done!"

The woman pulled the ruler back once she made all the calculations and quickly headed towards the back of the shop, presumably to look for and dresses that matched your measurements.

Jacob snickered from his place off to the side. You turned your head to look at him with curiosity, wondering what was so funny.

"You're just such an adorable little kid; you kind of remind me of my sister the first time she was fitted for a dress when she was your age." He explained, dramatically wiping a tear from his eye. You pursed your lips and raised a brow.

"Did something happen?" You wondered.

"Ooooh, yes." Jacob began to snicker again. "When the seamstress took her measurements, my sister jerked when the woman prodded her ticklish spot. My sister fell off of the stool and on top of the seamstress. There was quite a scene, I say."

You giggled at his story. Jacob smiled as you held your tummy, trying to contain your laughter.

"Miss?" The seamstress reappeared with three dresses hanging over her arms. "As per request, these dresses won't have to be worn with a corset. They're the only three I could find, I'm afraid. It's you're decision to choose which one you want, now."

You stepped off the stool and examined the dresses. Then, a crease formed between your brows. Even though there were only three dresses, you had no idea which one to choose! You've never had a choice in fashion before, and...

"What about the blue one?" Jacob appeared over your shoulder and pointed at it before retracting his hand. The seamstress pulled the dress out from over her arm and held it up in full view for you to examine. It was a light blue color, with puff sleeves and a white lace collar around the neck. It looked very pretty.

"Okay," you nodded. "Will it look okay?"

Jacob laid his hand atop your head, something he's already been doing a lot lately. "Don't fret, my dear! You'll look as adorable as a button in it!"

You immediately went into shy-mode at his praise. You weren't used to getting praised this much by any adult before.

"So the blue one?" The woman questioned.

You were about to nod in confirmation, until Jacob patted your head. "Let's get all three."

"Mister Jacob!" You whirled around and looked up at him with wide eyes, shaking your head. "I don't want you to go penniless all because of me!"

"My dear, do you know how much money I have sitting around?" Jacob grinned at you and affectionately messed up your hair with his hand before turning back to the seamstress. "I'll be buying all three today."


	6. reading lessons

When Jacob caught wind that you didn't know how to read, he began to invest most days in teaching you the art of literature and writing. At first it began with writing the words out and practicing your handwriting, then it turned into reading small books to practice your pronunciation and grammar skills.

Jacob wrote down a few words on the parchment paper, then turned it around on the table in front of you for you to read.

"Read this sentence out for me."

You squinted at it for several long moments, looking intimidated by the formation. There were four more extra words in the sentence than you were used to.

"Don't be intimidated by the length. Just read it out to me as best you can."

You sucked in a breath before beginning. "... The... bige..."

"Big."

"-big, braun..."

"Brown."

"-brown... dog?" Your eyes peeked up to look at Jacob for confirmation if you pronounced it right. He hummed in approval.

"... jumped... over... the lay-zee... f-ox."

"There, my dear. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Jacob leaned over the table and ruffled up your hair, a smug grin on his face. "You have a lot to learn."


End file.
